


porcelain & pink

by princesskay



Series: fragile (handle with force) [8]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Edging, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-21 16:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Holden calls Bill in the middle of the night, and asks him to come over because he can't sleep. Bill gives in just like he always does.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: fragile (handle with force) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552183
Comments: 18
Kudos: 104





	porcelain & pink

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the playlist, [pain/tenderness (everything in between)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6pqtI469Hn6SLDDhGSPVX7//), Frankie aka mormon-hair made for this fic for the 2019-2020 Christmas gift exchange on the Mindhunter Discord!

Moonlight slants past the blinds in white streaks, illuminating the tiny pills stacked up against the orange prescription bottle. When Holden rolls over and adjusts his pillow under his head for what feels like the hundredth time, his gaze settles on the label.  _ Holden Ford. Benzodiazepine.  _

He thinks about taking one just to quiet his mind and make him drowsy, but he only has one refill and the pills are already dwindling quickly. Something not quite as strong as panic dwells in his chest, a jagged rock shoved under his ribs and lodged against his lungs. When he closes his eyes, he sees Ed towering over him, his eyes dead and cold with malicious intent. That was the face of death; he’d stared it down, and narrowly escaped.

Holden presses his eyes shut, and draws in a deep breath that does little to disentangle the weight crushing his breastbone. It’s been a full twenty-four hours since the last panic attack at Shepard’s retirement party, but he can still feel the quivering hum in his limbs, the prickle of misplaced fear on the back of his neck telling him to run, to scream, to cry, to collapse, to fight. His brain leaps from one urge to the next, and sleep seems like a distant possibility. 

Rolling onto his back, Holden scrubs both hands over his face before staring into the darkness above. His eyelids click dryly in the silence, wide awake despite the late hour. Even when he forces them shut, they spring open again, alarmed by the memory of Vacaville white-washed across the back of his eyelids. He can still smell the disinfectant. He can still smell Ed, the scarce scent of generic soap caked over sweat and lingering iodine from surgery. 

Nausea churns in his stomach as the sense memories string together to recreate the embrace in the back of his mind. He’d felt certain he was going to die in that moment, and the instinctive urge toward self-preservation was the only thing that had given him the strength to flee. He can’t shake off the clinging sense of fear that rests like a meaty hand against the back of his neck. 

Tossing back the sheets, Holden stumbles out of the bed, and wanders down the hallway to the kitchen. He locates a clean cup in the cabinet, and fills it with water from the tap. The cold rush of water down the back of his throat meets with the thickening grip of emotion. The temptation to break down again right here on the floor of his kitchen is as strong as the dizzying tilt of alcohol - or Valium. 

His hands are shaking as he sets the cup on the counter, and reaches for the telephone. He holds the receiver in his hand for a minute, second-guessing the desperate urge roiling in his belly to dial Bill’s number. 

It’s too late to be calling, but the hours stretch out ahead of him like years, the seconds of laying in darkness and searching for sleep between the shadows and vestiges of Ed’s touch like some cerebral torture that he can’t endure alone. They had hardly spoken since Bill brought him back from California, but most of the animosity had dissipated with the threat of the OPR investigation retreating. He never stays mad long. 

Holden presses his fingertips against his tear ducts as his palm goes sweaty around the receiver. It seems so long ago since that hotel room in Adairsville when Holden had pushed the limits of Bill’s anger. He’d been pleased with himself, but maybe he’s pushed too far, asked too much, been far too greedy. There had been no roleplay or amusement in Bill’s tone on the flight from Vacaville when he’d announced Holden should shut up and listen. They have moved beyond bedroom games to real life consequences. Beyond the yearning for company in his chest, he has to wonder where exactly they stand with one another now. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, Holden dials the number with trembling fingers. The phone rings, each shrill sound vibrating against Holden’s ear with lapsing hope. He lowers his head, grinding his knuckles into his brow. He should hang up. It’s the middle of the night, and he might be more likely to wake Nancy than Bill. What would he do if she answered? 

“Hello?” Bill’s raspy, sleep-laden voice interrupts the repetitive ring of the phone. 

“Bill.” Holden says, his heart leaping in his chest. 

“Holden, what the fuck? It’s … Christ, it’s past one o’clock.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“What is it?” 

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t sleep, and I-” 

Bill’s irritated sigh rustles across the line, and Holden feels his face growing hot with shame. 

“I shouldn’t have called.” He whispers, his throat lumping with the sudden, hot sting of tears. 

“You sound terrible.” Bill says, “What’s going on? Really?” 

“I just … I needed to hear your voice. I’ll let you go.” 

“No, you can’t do that.” Bill says, “It’s the middle of the night, and now you have me worried.” 

“I’m okay. I’m just going to take some of the Valium and try to go to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.” 

Silence registers across the line, and Holden can hear Bill drawing in a deep breath. He closes his eyes, wanting to blurt out a desperate plea for Bill to come over, to relieve him of his thoughts even for just an hour. 

“Just say it.” Bill says, finally. 

“What?” 

“Whatever it is you’re about to ask. Just say it so I can say no, and then you can ask again and I can give in - like I always fucking do.” 

Holden purses his lips over a faint smile. Bill already seems resigned to it, so what’s the harm?

“Can you come over?” Holden whispers, clutching the receiver to his ear. “Just for a little bit?” 

“What am I supposed to tell Nancy?” 

“I don’t know. You’ll think of something. What did you tell her when you flew out to California to get me?” 

“The truth.” Bill says, “I can’t do that this time.” 

“Why? Because you’re going to come here to do more than keep me company?” 

“It’s the middle of the night. Do you really want to play these games right now?” 

“Yes.” Holden murmurs, “So, will you come over?” 

Bill sighs, heavily. “You better have beer in the fridge.” 

“I do.” 

“Good.” 

Holden hangs onto the receiver as the line clicks and the dial tone echoes through his skull. He puts it down after a minute, and glances around the dimly lit kitchen. His hands feel steadier already, the knot in his chest melting by a fraction. Something closer to anticipation crawls beneath his skin, webbing itself over the nausea and dread. 

He wanders to the refrigerator and pulls the door open to retrieve two Miller Lites. He finds his bottle opener in the drawer, and cracks both of them open. Taking a sip of one, he leaves the other one on the counter for when Bill arrives. 

He goes into the living room to wait, but he can’t sit still on the couch for long as his nerves chafe raw in a new, more pleasant way. He can shove Ed and Shepard to the back of his mind now that Bill is coming, and the promise of something sweet and agonizing fills the empty hours until morning. 

After what feels like an hour, Holden watches from his living room window as Bill’s car glides up along the curb below. He gets out and strides across the street with a cigarette in his mouth. Despite the early hour, he’d taken the time to get dressed in slacks and a polo. 

Holden rushes back to the kitchen to grab the telephone as soon as it begins to ring. He orders the doorman to let Bill up, and goes to the front door to wait. A few minutes later, he hears the soft knock at the door. Drawing in a steadying breath, he twists the door knob and pulls the door open. 

Bill takes his cigarette from his mouth, and exhales smoke as Holden leans against the door, regarding him with a faint smile. 

“Hi.” 

“Well, you got me here.” Bill says, spreading his hands. “You’re welcome.” 

“Thank you.” Holden murmurs, standing aside to let him into the apartment. 

Bill strides past him, taking a hard drag of his cigarette as he circles the kitchen counter to grab the beer Holden left him. 

Holden trails behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle as he watches Bill take a drink of the beer and set it down with a weary sigh. A sudden bolt of fresh emotion hits Holden in the chest, the slumbering anxiety jolting awake as if pushed from ten stories up. He’d expected Bill’s presence to calm him, but he feels laid open and bare now that Bill is staring at him in the dim light of the kitchen, his gaze honest and critical with lack of sleep. 

“Now what?” Bill asks, his gaze circling the empty kitchen before making its way back to Holden. 

Holden’s breath shudders in his lungs as he tries to draw a proper breath. 

“I don’t know.” He whispers, his voice wheezing in a strangled whimper from his throat. 

“You don’t know?” 

Holden glances away, trying to hide the tears building against the corners of his eyes. God, he feels stupid. Bill shouldn’t have to be here in the middle of the night, coddling his insecurities. He has his own little kid at home whose hand he should be holding. He shouldn’t have to be here because Holden should be able to handle night terrors on his own. 

“Holden?” Bill says, some of his irritation melting away into concern.

Breaking into a stride, Holden skirts the kitchen counter, and throws himself against Bill’s chest. Bill grunts as Holden’s weight pushes against him, and Holden wraps both arms around his waist. He buries his face in Bill’s chest, muffling the choked sob that rises in the back of his throat and smearing the tear that squeezes from the corner of his eye into Bill’s shirt. 

Bill sighs, but his arm winds around Holden’s shoulder. 

“Come on, enough of the melodrama.” He says, giving Holden’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine, Holden. This is just a setback. You can get back up, get past this-”

Holden sucks in a shaking breath, lifting his mouth from Bill’s chest just long enough to whisper, “I don’t know, Bill. I don’t know; I feel like I’m falling apart.” 

“You’re not. You’re just stressed. You need a break. We all do from time to time.” 

Rubbing his cheek into Bill’s chest to wipe away the tear smudged at the corner of his eye, Holden leans back. He relinquishes his grip on Bill’s waist, and rubs his knuckles across his nose. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come here.” 

“Well, now I’m glad you did.” Bill says, “Have you slept at all?” 

Holden focuses on the faded pattern in the linoleum. “No.” 

Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, and taps the crumbling ashes into the sink. He leans against the counter, shaking his head as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth. 

“I can’t stay here all night.” 

“I know.” 

“I told Nancy your car broke down, and I had to come pick you up.” 

Holden nods. “So we have a couple hours?” 

“Probably.” 

Holden swallows hard, and leans back against the counter. He carefully pushes his knuckles against the corner of his eye to obliterate any lingering moisture. 

“It’s just … every time I close my eyes, I see him.” He whispers. 

“Ed?” 

“Yes. He could have killed me, Bill. It was night time. There was hardly anyone in the ICU. I would have been dead before anyone realized what was happening.” 

“But he didn’t.” Bill says, “That’s what you have to focus on.” 

“I know, but I can’t shake it. He told me that he couldn’t have all those girls, so he killed them and made them his ‘spirit wives’. Then he said he could kill me, and I would be with him in spirit too.” 

“Jesus.” 

“He asked me why I was there. I said I didn’t know.” Holden whispers, rubbing his forehead as the memory of what followed arises in stunning clarity in his mind. “He hugged me.” 

“Hugged you?” 

“That’s when I ran. I thought I was having a heart attack.” 

“What a fucking lunatic.” Bill mutters, pressing his cigarette to his mouth. “Do you think he would have done it?” 

“I don’t know. I think he wanted me to be with him. I’m the only person who has ever truly listened to him, you know? He wanted to make sure I couldn’t leave again.” 

“He wanted to possess you.” Bill whispers, his voice hardening with disgust. “You know, if you’d ended up seriously injured, I might have killed him.” 

Holden’s gaze drifts from the linoleum to meet Bill’s beneath the glare of the overhead light. Bill’s eyes are tired, but there’s a fierce glimmer in the faded blue depths, a possessiveness that makes Holden’s belly melt. 

“He doesn’t own me.” Holden whispers, shifting closer to Bill. He puts a quivering hand over Bill’s as he draws in a shuddering breath. “Only you do.” 

Bill’s gaze intensifies as Holden’s shoulder pushes against his, and his gaze grows heavy with a quiet, pulsing need. 

“This isn’t a good idea.” Bill whispers as Holden presses closer, his breath wandering across Bill’s cheek. 

“What?” Holden murmurs, his lips brushing Bill’s skin. 

“This. Right now, when you’re like this.” 

“Like what?” 

Bill’s trembling fingers drop the cigarette into the sink where it rolls down against the drain and loses its spark. His hand curls into a fist under Holden’s palm. 

“Fragile.” 

Holden’s breath catches in the back of his throat as Bill turns to grasp his hips, holding back the wet push of his lips. 

“I thought you liked breaking me.”

Bill’s breath rasps in the silence of the kitchen, and Holden hears his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. His skin is alive and tingling with presupposed pleasure. They’ve been through this enough times for him to recognize that look in Bill’s eyes, the pained longing as he gives into something that he knows he shouldn’t. But he gives in every time, just like he’d said. 

“This isn’t a game, Holden.” Bill says, “You’re not well.” 

“I’m well enough to know what I want.” Holden says, pressing closer against the grip of Bill’s palms sinking past the barrier of his t-shirt and into skin. “I can’t spend the rest of the night like this, Bill. It’s eating me alive. I just need something else … something to take my mind off of it.” 

“Something?” 

“You know.” Holden whispers, his palm sliding down Bill’s forearm to grip the back of his hand. 

“Holden, no.” 

“Yes.” Holden says, his eyes darting back up to meet Bill’s fiercely. “I want you to do it like we always have. Forget about Ed and the panic attack.” He pushes against Bill’s grasp, and Bill’s flagging resistance crumbles, allowing Holden to clutch at his chest. “I want it to hurt. Please, I need it.” 

Bill’s brow furrows, and Holden can see the conflict warring behind his eyes, the opposing urges to be the protector or to give into these feral, twisted urges. 

Holden kisses him before the two can resolve. Wrapping his arm around Bill’s neck, he presses firmly against him, and pushes his tongue past the quivering plane of Bill’s lower lip.

Bill mutters a groan into the hungry caress, and reaches down to clasp Holden’s backside in a squeezing grip. He turns to push Holden up against the counter, his lips slanting down hard across Holden’s to force his mouth into submission. 

Holden opens his mouth to the assault of Bill’s teeth and tongue, uttering a groan from deep in his chest that breaks past the lumped dread and anxiety. He feels the tensed fear gripping the back of his neck beginning to melt away, soothed into nothing by the sweet, hard stroke of Bill’s mouth. 

When Bill draws back, his forehead rests against Holden’s and his breath surges across his mouth. 

“Are you sure?” He whispers, his voice trembling. 

Holden nods, pressing his eyes shut as need lances through his middle. 

“You’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?” 

Holden nods again, unable to wrangle a verbal affirmation from the amongst the desires crowding his chest. 

“Come on. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.” Bill says, easing him away from the counter. 

“Bedroom.” Holden whispers. 

Bill nods. Grasping Holden’s wrist, he leads them out of the kitchen, leaving the beer to warm on the counter. 

Holden’s heart races as they cross the short distance across the apartment to his bedroom. The sheets are a tangled mess from his tossing and turning, and he avoids looking at the nightstand where the Valium is sitting. He’s grateful he didn’t take any of the pills because he wants to be alert and awake for every moment of what is about to happen with no fuzzy, drugged haze to fade the sharp corners of each detail. 

Bill releases his wrist, leaving Holden to quake at the end of the bed as turns the bedside lamp on. Dim light washes the room, glinting off gold when Bill takes off his ring and his watch. He sets them both on the nightstand, and sits down on the edge of the mattress with a quiet sigh. There’s a decisive glint in his eyes, the concern already glazed over with possessive need and tempered control that makes him so very good at what he’s about to do. 

Holden’s palms are sweaty as he reaches up to pull his shirt off over his head. He doesn’t like having any fabric in the way, even if it’s not touching the skin Bill’s hand is meeting. Bill likes to touch him after, his caress soothing right after it has been so brutal. Holden is acutely longing for both - the pain and the tenderness - and everything in between. 

As the shirt falls to the ground, Holden hooks his thumbs on his pajama pants and slides them down his thighs. The rustle of fabric interrupts the stifled silence as the pants crumple to his ankles, and he steps out of them. 

He hesitates with Bill’s gaze piercing into him, eating up the stretch of naked skin and the little bit of fabric still covering his gently pulsing groin. 

Bill’s chest lifts with a raspy breath as Holden tugs the briefs down. The fabric stretches slowly from his hips, catching momentarily on the bulge of his cock before sliding down his thighs. As they drop to the ground, Holden shuffles across the short distance between them. His fingers flex at his sides, anxious energy running up and down his body and humming into his hands. Even the air seems electrified, every breath he takes crackling with anticipation and need. 

Bill holds out a hand to him, and Holden takes it, winding quivering fingers between Bill’s. Bill drags him forward, between his thighs before bracing his other palm against Holden’s hip. His gaze wanders up to clutch Holden’s, thumb distractingly stroking at his bare hip. 

Holden closes his eyes, drawing in a feeble breath. Need sparks beneath his skin, and he can already imagine the duress of Bill’s palm across his bare backside. He sinks to his knees as a tremble sweeps through him, sapping the strength from his limbs. 

Bill catches him by the cheek, dragging him into a slow, simmering kiss as Holden leans into the cradle of his thighs, both hands running sloppily across his chest. 

The kiss lingers for a long moment before Bill’s mouth lets up, allowing Holden to suck in a strangled breath. 

“Ready?” 

Holden nods, vigorously. “Yes. Please.” 

Bill’s hand slides across his jaw and dips down to cradle him by the nape. He guides Holden’s head down towards the sheets, draping Holden’s trembling body across his knee.

Holden releases a shaky sigh of relief as his cheek settles against the sheets. The knot in his throat lets loose, and he feels like he can breathe again, if only to gasp and whimper with the need building steadily under Bill’s burning gaze. He can feel it tracking down the curve of his spine right before his palm brushes Holden’s bare skin, and that simple touch makes Holden moan aloud, a choked sound of desperation that he can’t hold back. 

Bill’s thumb strokes across his skin, ingraining a low, humming tingle in the skin before the first strike even comes. 

Holden is primed and squirming, toes digging into the carpet to arch his hips up against the gradual caress in search of more by the time Bill retrieves his hand. There’s a gap of silence and Holden can hear the tension building, but he doesn’t look back. He loves the initial burst of shock when Bill chooses the let his hand fly, when he’s decided Holden has waited long enough. 

The silence shatters with the crack of his palm across Holden’s squirming backside, and Holden isn’t ready though he’d begged and cajoled it into reality. A strangled cry leaps up his throat as he lurches against Bill’s thigh. His body thrills with the first rush of pain, needle-like tingles scattering across his skin. 

Bill’s other hand presses against his lower back, pinning down the helpless quiver of Holden’s body already bolting with pain and pleasure. The next strike is measured, layering across the same patch of flesh already hissing from harsh contact. 

Holden digs his fingers into the sheets, drawing a handful against his mouth as a staggered cry spills from his throat. He sucks in a strangled breath, trying to correct his breathing, trying to calm himself now that they’re only two spankings in and it’s far from over, his body far from as broken as he wants it to be. 

Bill’s hand swings again, colliding with Holden’s smarting flesh. 

Holden breathes in stammered gasps against the sheets, and squirms against Bill’s leg. Hot need tugs at his belly, getting him hard despite the anxiety that had driven him to the request. That fearful clutch is melting away in the back of his mind while pleasure comes to the forefront, bright and red and humming in all it’s pain and glory. 

Holden arches sharply when Bill’s hand cracks across his skin, a bit harder this time. He’s warmed up, and it’s getting real. The visceral, cutting pain that he longs for starts to seep across his skin, building with every blow. 

“Yes.” He gasps into the sheets, pushing his toes into the carpet to arch into the downward swing of Bill’s hand. 

His body jolts with the strike, and Bill has to pin him down again, keeping his squirming hips firmly in place over his knee as he doles out the next few spankings in quick succession. 

Holden cries out as the pain peppers his skin and scatters like hot embers chasing across his backside. The repetitive sound of Bill’s palm coming down hard echoes on repeat through his brain, adding to the winding heat of humiliation crawling up his chest and throat. The small, helpless feeling that overcomes him every time they do this hits stronger with the tangled ball of panic lingering in the back of his mind, and he revels in the gradual dissolution of any control he’d once hand melting like candle wax beneath the burning blow of Bill’s hand. 

By the time Bill pauses, his flesh is humming and alive, his blood pounding with exhilaration and need. His breaths hiccup in whimpered gasps from the back of his throat, stammering on even as the spankings cease, and there’s nothing touching him except the lively sting simmering across his flesh. 

Bill’s fingertips soothe the flushed heat gathering across skin, sharpening the bite of raw pain. 

Holden gasps softly, his hips bucking against Bill’s thigh. The gentility is almost worse than the hard, quick spankings, the way it lingers like a branding iron against his already tortured skin. 

“Please.” Holden whispers. “Don’t stop.” 

Bill’s stroking fingertips pause, and Holden knows he’s listening for the honesty or the lie in his voice. Bill is aware of how he tests the boundaries of how much he can take, but maybe neither of them are thinking clearly. Holden barely manages to catch his breath when that lingering caress drifts away and the silence crackles for mere seconds before Bill’s palm collides harshly once more. 

Holden’s mouth stretches open as Bill’s hand comes down so hard that the rush of pain washes down his whole body. His body twists in a violent clutch of protest, but the staggered cry that forces its way up his chest bleeds with satisfaction. He clings to the bed sheets as the blow of Bill’s hand takes on a swift, firm rhythm, jolting Holden’s body against his leg each time. 

Holden’s moan turns to a strangled, elongated whimper, and he presses his forehead into the mattress to push back the hot rush of tears suddenly swarming at his eyelids. He’s never pushed himself to this point despite the number of times he’s stepped too close to the line before desperately crying for Bill to stop. But this time, it isn’t just the pain; he can feel that rocky weight in his chest breaking loose, everything he’d been holding back since Vacaville threatening to explode like water from a fractured dam. 

He doesn’t have the sense to a rasp a broken, finished-off plea as Bill’s palm continues to swing, one after the next, cracking across his trembling, naked skin with measured force and efficiency. As his shaking moans turn to sobs, he realizes he isn’t done, he doesn’t want it to be over; there’s some burning, aching cathartic bliss in the repetitive blow of Bill’s hand turning his skin raw and red, something like release that isn’t quite sexual but that doesn’t at all quell the need pulsing between his thighs. 

Bill’s hand stops abruptly, and Holden gasps in a breath. He presses the sheets to his mouth, muffling the strangled sobs still pushing against the back of his throat. His cheeks are slick, and at any moment Bill will see that this “game” of theirs has gone beyond the bedroom and touched reality. 

Holden rubs the sheet into his cheeks as Bill leans over to prop his elbow against the mattress. His palm runs softly up Holden’s back, achingly tender in a way that only urges the lump of tears harder against the back of Holden’s throat. 

“Holden? Are you okay?” 

Holden nods, scrubbing the sheets viciously against his cheeks. He can’t let Bill see the tears, can’t ruin this bit of satisfaction he’s curated for himself. Bill might never hit him again if he sees what’s really happening in the sordid web of confused emotion and need in Holden’s chest. 

“Holden.” Bill repeats, clutching his shoulder. “Look at me.” 

Holden draws in a shaky breath, and slowly lifts his head from the sheets. He sniffles quietly as Bill’s gaze takes in his trembling mouth and puffy eyes. 

“Jesus.” Bill says, his brow furling in disbelief. “I told you tell me if it was too much.” 

“It wasn’t.” Holden says, shaking his head desperately. “Bill, please-”

Bill’s leg twists out from underneath Holden’s weight, and he rises from the bed with a muttered curse. 

“I told you this was a mistake.” Bill says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. 

“It wasn’t.” Holden repeats, sitting up to cast Bill a pleading gaze. “It was good. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t you.” 

“Really?” Bill says, disbelief ballooning in the incredulous question. 

“Please, don’t go yet.” Holden whispers, “I’m fine.” 

“But, you’re not, Holden.” Bill says, “I can see that, and I know you can too.” 

Holden drags himself up from the bed sheets, and staggers across the carpet to where Bill is brooding, his hands braced on his hips. 

“I’ll feel better if you stay, though.” He whispers, reaching down to gather his erection in his hand as he leans into Bill’s chest. “See. You did this, too.” 

Bill’s hands drifts from his hips to grasp Holden’s cheeks, turning his face up so their eyes can meet. His thumb strokes at the corner of his eye, soothing away lingering tears. 

“I can’t be here all night.” He says, a grimace of pain winding through the statement. 

“I know. Just stay long enough to finish what you started.” Holden whispers, pushing the jut of his erection against Bill’s crotch. “Please. I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to fuck me, and-”

Bill kisses him before he can plead any further, his mouth slanting over Holden’s and pressing his tongue past the quivering border of Holden’s lips. Holden leans into the kiss, uttering an eager moan to encourage the weight of Bill’s hands sliding down his back to grasp his smarting backside. 

Holden whimpers as Bill hoists him off his feet. He wraps his legs around Bill’s waist and his arms around his neck, clinging on in trembling desperation. God, how he wishes Bill didn’t have to go home after this. The joy of the motel rooms is that they can lay in bed together after, their arms and legs intertwined in melted ecstasy and bliss. In this moment, he has to glean as much of Bill’s affection as he can before it’s gone and he has to face the night alone. 

Carrying him to the bed, Bill lowers them to the sheets where Holden pulls him down deeper into the kiss. Bill’s hand clutches his jaw, pushing his mouth open to the wet sweep of his tongue, and pinning his head back against the pillow. 

Holden pushes against the grasp, but Bill’s mouth breaks from his with a clipped gasp. 

He leans back on his heels, one hand gripping Holden’s knee reassuringly. His gaze wanders to the night stand, and Holden nods to the brass handle. 

“Top drawer.” He says, quietly. 

Bill reaches over to pull the drawer open and retrieve the Vaseline from inside. 

Holden rolls over onto his stomach, and drags the pillow underneath of his hips. His backside is still smarting against the cool touch of air, and he can already imagine the sweet, hard slap of Bill’s hips against him while his cock goes in. 

Holden turns his cheek against the mattress to peer over his shoulder as the sound of the Vaseline jar opening scrapes across his senses. In the soft, yellow lamplight, his skin glows deep pink with visible handprints. Bill crowds between his open thighs, glistening fingers pushing past the brutalized skin to find his hole with a contradictory, gentle touch. 

Holden bites at his lower lip at the first warm, slick glide of Bill’s fingers against him, smearing his cleft with Vaseline before rubbing firm, tantalizing circles against his hole. Digging his knees into the mattress, Holden arches back against the caress, and mutters a sound of need. 

Leaning over him, Bill bends to press his mouth to Holden’s neck. He sucks softly on a patch of skin before traveling lower, peppering the trembling dip of Holden’s spine with a row of wet kisses while his fingers caress up and down the cleft. The gentle kissing stirs a wave of tingles down Holden’s spine, colliding with the gripping heat of arousal when Bill’s finger breaches his hole. 

A wavering moan surges past the grip of Holden’s teeth, and his hips rise from the pillow to meet Bill's slowly descending hand. His muscles shudder as he strains for more, the needy scream of his body barely sated by the languid pressure of Bill’s index finger going in. 

Bill pumps his hand slowly, lathering Holden in and out with Vaseline, hardly persuaded by Holden’s impatient moaning and thrusting. His wet, open-mouthed kiss wanders back up to linger at Holden’s shoulder where muscles are cramped with expectant need. His breath spills steadily across the tense skin, his every action and breath controlled while Holden feels himself melting apart and splintering at the seams. 

Holden gathers his knees under himself to leverage back against the slow but steady thrust of Bill’s hand. His cock throbs with vicious waves of need, already pushed far to the edge of delirium by the hard spanking. His belly is a swimming hoard of lurching tingles, clenching with anticipatory hunger with every slight graze of Bill’s finger against his prostate. 

“Fuck …” Holden moans, “Please. More. Bill, please, I need-”

“Shh.” Bill’s low whisper rasps a hot breath across Holden’s ear lobe, intensifying the tingles sweeping down his body. “I’ve got you.” 

The assurance does little to placate the need trampling Holden’s nerves down to threadbare, flaming pieces. He clenches back a groan with his teeth as desperation punches him hard the chest. Bill seems content to slowly, gently fuck him with one finger, stretching out the languid stimulation, and he wants to scream, if not to start sobbing again as the idea of waiting for release another ten minutes - one more second even - seems torturously unbearable. 

“Bill, please-” He tries again, pressing his panicked need into the plea. 

Bill’s hand withdraws entirely, and Holden gasps into the sheets, choking back a curse. 

Bill pulls the pillow out from underneath him, and tosses it back against the headboard. Gripping him by the ankle, he turns Holden onto his side, and pushes his knee up against his chest.

Head already spinning with vibrant arousal, Holden limply complies with Bill’s repositioning of his trembling limbs. He blinks in the dim lamplight, glancing feverishly over his shoulder to see Bill settling in behind him. He adds more Vaseline to his fingers before pressing them back up against Holden’s hole, and slipping one back inside. 

Holden strains back against the slight pressure. His body thrills with pleasure, but it isn’t enough to inch him any closer toward orgasm. He endures to the lazy thrust of Bill’s hand a few moments longer before tentatively reaching for his pulsing cock. 

“Don’t.” Bill whispers against his ear, his voice low and raspy. 

Pursing his lips over a protest, Holden curls his fist around a handful of the sheets instead. His cock squirms rock-hard and needy against his belly, seizing with phantom tingles of pleasure with every gentle push of Bill’s finger. His hips rock back into the pressure, desperate to hasten the passive caress. 

“God, Bill … please.” He groans, casting a pleading gaze over his shoulder. 

“Relax.” Bill murmurs, dropping a kiss against Holden’s shoulder. “You’re going to come, trust me.” 

Holden’s mind is screaming  _ when?  _ But, the heaving needs intensify and he loses his voice to a tortured moan when Bill graciously couples a second finger into the slow ministration. His hips surge back against the mounting pressure, every inch of him tingling hot with excruciating arousal. The steady thrusting delves deeper, reaching down against Holden’s quaking insides to find the swollen spot aching with building release. 

“Oh fuck…” Holden cries as a hard clench of arousal sweeps through his belly, half-dragging him to the verge of orgasm with the single stroke of Bill’s fingertips across his prostate. 

He gasps, blinking hard against prickling stars at the corners of his eyes when Bill’s hand retreats. His fingers slide to the rim of Holden’s opening, letting him shudder and tense on the very edge of pleasure before it melts back down into simmering arousal. As the pre-orgasmic tingles retreat, Holden’s chest knots with frustration. 

“Fuck, Bill-” He complains, pushing back against the faint penetration of Bill’s fingers. 

“You’re close.” Bill murmurs, the remark half a question, half a pleased statement of fact. 

“Yes, please …” Holden pants, gasping as Bill’s fingers slip back into him. 

They thrust idly into Holden’s squirming backside as Bill’s mouth dazzles the back of his neck and ear with nuzzling kisses. 

“How close?” 

Holden squeezes his eyes shut, biting back an angry, needy retort.  _ You know. You know how close.  _

“Close. I almost …” Holden whispers, the reply trailing off into a heavy, exhilarated breaths. 

Bill allows his fingers to curl down against the hardening rise of Holden’s prostate, just a few firm revolutions that he knows will bring Holden right back to the edge. 

“Oh, oh ..” Holden gasps, his mouth sputtering open as the pleasure is quick to return, soaring quick and hot through his chest. He can feel it cresting in his belly and chest, everything drawing tight in anticipation. His hips push back into the stroke, his whole body trembling as orgasm seems inevitable. 

Then Bill’s fingers roll back slowly, drifting torturously from Holden’s prostate and leaving just enough pressure to keep Holden wobbling on the edge of pleasure. 

Holden moans aloud, burying his face in the pillow as the orgasm recedes once more, seeping just beyond his reach into a thrumming buzz of almost painful arousal. His cock twitches hungrily against his belly, every inch of him aching with delayed release. 

The following caress is slower, circling around the prostate and delving deeper. Bill’s fingers push back and forth, gently working Holden open while dangling him over the verge of climax. Drifting tingles swirl through Holden’s belly, the phantom clench of pleasure teasing his throbbing cock with the idea of release. 

A choked plea staggers from his chest as he claws at the bedsheets and thrusts back against the grinding stroke of Bill’s hand. 

“Please.” He moans, “Please, I can’t …” 

The helpless whimper fades into a whine as he writhes against the steady pressure of Bill’s hand. His trembling fingers disentangle from the sheets to reach for his cock, ignoring the command Bill had given him once already. He can nearly taste the pleasure, can easily imagine the spasms sweeping through him to relieve him of this unbearable arousal, and he feels so close to the edge that his sanity seems intent upon slipping away with it. The single thought of release pounds through his mind, desperation cutting off any sense of obedience. 

Holden’s fingers barely brush his pulsing cock before Bill’s hand retreats from his hole to grab him by the wrist. 

“What did I say?” Bill asks, yanking Holden’s hand away from his cock. “Do you want me to tie you down?” 

“Bill, fuck .. please.” Holden moans, pushing his forehead against the mattress. “I can’t take it anymore; I just want to come. Please, I’m begging.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Bill’s breath diffuses in a hot sigh across the back of Holden’s neck. 

“This what you asked for.” He whispers. 

“I know, but-”

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No.” Holden groans, arching his hips back against empty air. 

His body throbs and hums with arousal and possibility, but the distance between him and orgasm stretches out torturously into the night. The masochistic voice in the back of his head mutters the idea that he would rather have Bill torture him like this, pushing him up against the verge of pleasure before removing the possibility entirely, for the rest of the night rather than be alone again. 

“Okay.” Bill says, his wet fingers grazing Holden’s opening. “Then stop disobeying, and do as I tell you.” 

Holden nods into the sheets, biting back a whimper as the order preludes Bill’s fingers sliding back into him. His hole is soft and worked open now, allowing Bill’s touch to glide into him with ease and producing a wet slap of contact with every thrust of his hand. 

Trapped breaths crowd in Holden’s lungs as he bites his lower lip and focuses intently on the throbbing undertow of need washing through his veins. He only needs just the right stroke to tip him over the edge, but Bill is skilled and diligent, avoiding Holden’s prostate entirely while rubbing his fingers in and out. Every penetration draws Holden’s belly taut with arousal, but it’s nothing more than the ghost of pleasure drifting teasingly across his taut skin before melting away into the tormented burn humming between his legs. 

As the touch stretches on, Holden swallows back the moans breaking free of his chest. His breath rushes in jagged bursts from his nose as need wraps around the back of his throat, pushing desperate, helpless tears back to the corners of his eyes. Every thrust of Bill’s fingers keeps him right there on the verge of pleasure, keeping his hips rocking back into the inadequate caress even as his quivering muscles scream for relief; and when Holden begins to stiffen and gasp in pleasure, the caress retreats until the boiling arousal lessens to an anxious simmer, and Holden is half-sobbing with aching need.

He lays compliantly against the sheets as Bill’s fingers toy with him, one moment pushing a third finger in to stretch him open, the next applying only one to his limp, smarting hole. He twists and trembles through every brief glimpse into pleasure, crying out in devastation each time he thinks Bill’s touch will stay and render pleasure through his quaking body. A tear wanders across the bridge of his nose while his cock jolts against his thigh, pre-cum gathering in a thick drop at the tip, every bit of him oozing with need. 

Holden’s hazy eyes slip open to glimpse the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers glowing out into the night. His brain is too tired and melted with need to track exactly how long it’s been, but more than an hour or maybe two have passed since Bill arrived and it feels like that much time has been spent just like this, hanging on the verge of climax while Bill’s fingers purposefully stroke into him. 

Holden inhales a shuddering gasp as the steady stroke of Bill’s fingers eases and slides out of him.

“God, no …” He whispers, the plea slipping in fractured pieces from his heaving chest. “Bill, please-”

“Shh.” Bill soothes him, a kiss pressing behind Holden’s ear. “We’re almost there.” 

His body hums and aches against the following void, and he glances over his shoulder to see Bill unzipping his pants. A renewed energy surges through his chest, his blood sparking hot as he glimpses the hard, swollen outline of Bill’s cock straining against his boxers. 

Bill strips out of his pants and boxers, and dips his fingers in the Vaseline again to glaze his cock. 

Holden swallows back a whimper as Bill’s fingers slide over the hard length of his cock, making it glisten in the scarce lamplight. He arches his hips back eagerly, casting Bill a needy gaze over his shoulder. 

Bill grasps his bare hip, drawing Holden back against him. His cock brushes up against Holden’s cleft, imprinting the aroused pulse of rushed blood into his skin. 

“Oh, yes.” Holden whispers, his voice a strangled moan. 

Bill’s cockhead nudges against him, and his hips bolt back against the pressure, desperate to feel the thick length filling him to the brink. 

Bill mutes a groan into Holden’s nape as his trembling hand guides his cock against Holden’s opening. Their slick skin slides against one another briefly before Bill’s cock finds its way inside, the first thrust jolting a gasp from both of them. 

Bill’s arms wrap around Holden’s chest, drawing him close as their bodies meet. Holden’s back arches against the embrace, and a cry stretches from his throat. Bill’s cock thrusts all the way inside, finding him open and quivering, filling him until his hips are grinding in a needy, trembling circle against Holden’s flushed backside. 

“Fuck …” Bill groans into the back of Holden’s neck, a bit of the dominant control slipping away in the haze of pleasure. 

Holden’s body seizes with pleasure when Bill thrusts against him again, finding a steady rhythm that brings their bodies slapping together each time. Satisfaction bursts past the frustration knotting Holden’s chest, and the needy tears melt from his eyes as he cries out in pleasure at the consuming sensation of Bill’s cock rocking into the depths of his quivering body. The persistent thrusting is quick to send him spiraling back to the edge, robbing him of breath, sending the roar of tingling pleasure soaring up through his chest. 

Holden gasps as Bill’s thrusting doesn’t taper off, doesn’t pull back, doesn’t torment him with the idea of pleasure any longer. Behind the black clench of his eyelids, he can see the tide swelling to overtake him, and feel the orgasm rushing up between his thighs to seize him by the belly. 

“Oh God, oh god …” He gasps, clinging onto Bill’s arms as they tighten around him. “Bill, I’m …” 

Bill’s hand is around him suddenly, jolting Holden’s eyelids open. He glances down just before the pleasure hits him, and sees his release spilling in slick, milky bursts across Bill’s stroking fist. A sharp gasp tears from his throat; then he loses his breath and his voice as his mouth stretches open, paralyzed by the magnificent pleasure gripping him from the inside out. His hips convulse against the competing thrusts of Bill’s hand and his cock, rocking back and forth from one to the other while every inch of him seizes with bliss. The spasms roil through his belly for what feels like long, glorious minutes before it finally begins to fade, sapping away into faded, fragile trembles. 

His body is limp and shuddering as Bill pushes him onto his stomach again, and mounts his arched backside. The eager tempo of his thrusts barely strays during the transition, but once Holden is facedown in the sheets, his backside raised by Bill’s powerful grip on his hips, he can feel them vibrating deep into the core of his body. Holden gasps breathlessly, clinging to the sheets as Bill’s cock thrusts into his split-open, sensitized hole, hitting so deep, so hard that he feels the reverberation to his bones. He can do little more but hang on as Bill quickly finishes himself off with these final, powerful stretch of blows. 

Holden’s backside is still faintly humming with pain as Bill pulls out to spill the hot rain of his release across the rosy skin. Cum drizzles slick and warm down the curve of his backside and into the dip of his spine, melting there in a gushing puddle that Holden relishes next to Bill’s choked groans of pleasure. The abundant drip of release tapers off, and Bill’s moans fade into exhilarated breaths. 

He bends to drop a kiss against Holden’s shoulder before he climbs off the bed. 

Holden lays still in the semi-darkness as Bill leaves the room and crosses the hallway to the bathroom. His body melts into the sheets, all the wound-up anxiety and need siphoned from his limbs by the powerful orgasm. What remains is a satisfied hum that sizzles across his nerve-endings, tugging the worn-out, sapped fibers of his body down into sinking exhaustion. 

His eyelids slip shut, and he’s already half-asleep before Bill comes back with a damp washcloth. He tries to move, to mutter even some small sound of gratitude as the cloth glides down his spine and across his backside, cleaning away the dribbling release. 

Bill softly grasps Holden’s hip to roll his powerless body onto his side.

Holden cracks his eyes open to gaze up at him as Bill concentrates on wiping down his belly and thighs. 

“I wish you could stay.” Holden whispers. 

Bill’s jaw clenches as he finishes cleaning Holden’s belly. “I know. But I can’t.” 

Holden swallows hard as Bill takes his outstretched hand. In the raw hours of early morning, in the wake of pain and pleasure, he can’t manufacture a facade of calm or control; he can’t pretend to be powerful and unaffected by all that’s happened. Bill has him worn out and dependent on this lingering touch, and now he has to leave; and Holden knows he did this to himself, but he wouldn’t trade the last hour for anything. 

Bill draws in a deep breath, and rises from the edge of the bed. He’s quiet as he finds his boxers and trousers among the tousled sheets, and gets dressed. Holden glances away when he retrieves his watch and his wedding ring from the nightstand. His fist flexes when he puts the ring back on, as if adjusting to the tiny weight of it resting on his finger. Before the truth can surpass the warm satisfaction in Holden’s chest, he turns the lamp off, and plunges the room into darkness. 

The sound of his footsteps shuffling back to Holden’s side alerts Holden just before the edge of the mattress dips beneath his weight. He bends down to press a warm, lingering kiss against Holden’s temple. 

“Everything’s going to be okay.” He whispers, his fingers stroking Holden’s nape. “All right?” 

Holden nods, though he doesn’t entirely believe it just yet; but maybe, if Bill keeps saying it he will. In time, maybe he will. 

“Close your eyes.” Bill says, as if he can sense Holden’s gaze combing through the darkness to reach him. 

Holden obeys, whether Bill can see it or not. 

“Get some rest. Things will look better in the morning.” 

Holden draws in a shaky breath. “Promise?” 

“Yes. Now go to sleep.” 

“I’ll try.” 

Bill drops one last kiss against his temple before rising from the bed. Holden listens to his footsteps retreat toward the door, and he whispers Bill’s name before he can stop himself. 

“Yeah?” Bill says, pausing in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated in the faint moonlight. 

Holden wants to beg him not to go, to hold him until he drifts back to sleep, and nothing that has transpired in these past few weeks - Vacaville, Kemper, Shepard, his own panic - can hurt him. 

Instead, because it’s all he can say, he whispers, “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Holden lets his head drop back against the pillow with a sigh as Bill’s tread echoes down the hallway until the front door of the apartment opens and falls shut behind him. Silence settles, but Holden only listens the muted scrape of his thoughts for another moment before the pull of exhaustion and the melted bliss of his body drags him away from reality and towards dreams. He thinks of Bill’s weight pinned against his back, his arms holding on while Holden quaked with pleasure. He thinks of first pain and then pleasure, and he feels safe, his body cared for every way he’s ever desired. Ed’s face disappears from the back of his mind as he falls asleep, already dreaming of embraces and pleasure in the middle of the night before Bill’s car pulls away from the curb. 

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Lucy for the inspo. She sent me [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qexeds7TPPg//) that goes perfectly with the theme/aesthetic of this fic. 
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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